Burning Star
by LadetteMonologues
Summary: Draco is just trying to survive his final year at Hogwarts, but he's not the only one. Duel perspective retelling of The Deathly Hallows, and the year that led to the battle of Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

**Burning Star**

 **Chapter 1: Draco**

The night Dumbledore died played on repeat through Draco's mind. His mother had warned him not to think of it at all. Not with the dark Lord in their house. But he couldn't help it. He'd sit in his large window, knowing that the dark Lord was only a few doors down the hall in the master bedroom, and think of how he'd become a murderer.

" _Good evening Draco," so calm and collected, though his face was white, his hand was black, and his legs gave way as he spoke. "You found a way to let them in, did you?"_

Draco flinched, his pale reflection bright against the world's darkness. His bedroom was painted a dark green, darker than the Slytherin colours. There was a white marble fireplace which he'd let burn out hours ago, so now the room was cold. A large wooden bedframe sat in the centre of the room, black sheets and blankets with his initials embroidered into the corners. A large French armoire took up most of the far wall, and the rest of the space was taken up by bookshelves filled with only the best in Wizard Literature. Diaries and first editions that dated back hundreds of years. And a large window with a bench tucked next to it, where he could lean against the eaves and watch the garden.

" _Right under your nose and you never realised!"_

" _Ingenious." That's what Dumbledore had called him. Before telling Draco, "you're not a killer."_

He'd been right of course. When Draco had returned, his mother had let a small smile escape when she'd learned the truth from him. "You're not a killer," she'd whispered, and the echo of the old man had made him sick.

" _You know what I'm capable of! You don't know what I've done!" Flashes of Katy Bell and Ron Weasley. Agony written on their faces, the screams of pain. The fact that Dumbledore had known and had done nothing._

Draco dropped the book he'd been pretending to read and moved to his large armoire. He pulled his t-shirt over his shoulders and threw it on the floor. His white shirts were ironed, crisp and new. They smelt of fresh cotton and vanilla. He pulled one on, tucked it into his black trousers and noted that the t-shirt no longer lay on his floor.

"Accio tie."

A thin black tie flew from the armoire and slithered around his neck, tying itself neatly if not a little too tight. He pulled at it, the feeling of the tie making him claustrophobic.

" _I had to mend the vanishing cabinet. Montague and his story… Everyone thought it was a really good story. But I was the only one who realised what it meant! There could be a way into Hogwarts through the cabinets if I fixed the broken one…"_

" _A very clever plan." And it had been. But it was followed by the hollow feeling that this was the only time Dumbledore had praised him, not Potter. Not Weasley. Not Granger. Him._

He pulled the black robes his father had given him around his shoulders, before heading downstairs. The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. His mother and father were greeting people in the hallway, small whisperings trickling through as the crowd grew. Death Eaters. All in their black robes, dark marks emblazoned on their arms for all to see. Draco's itched.

The drawing room doors were closed, and there were the irrefutable sounds of screaming. People looked to the closed doors, but only briefly. Before returning to their conversations.

" _Why didn't you stop me?"_

" _I tried. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders…"_

" _He's a double agent, you stupid old man! But I haven't told him what I've been doing in the Room of Requirement. He's going to wake up tomorrow and it'll be all over, and he won't be the Dark Lord's favourite anymore! He'll be nothing compared to me, nothing!"_

Draco moved over to his mother's side, she reached for his hand but he stayed just shy of it.

"Where's Professor Snape?" he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention from anyone other than her.

"He'll be here. He's not disobeyed the dark Lord yet," Narcissa replied, smiling. The smile did not reach her eyes.

The screaming stopped, which drew attention to the large wooden doors again. They swung open, inviting everyone into the dark room. The room was taken up by a long and ornate table. The chairs and tables that usually sat in the drawing room had been pushed and piled against the walls. The only light came from a fire beneath the marble mantlepiece, above which was a gilded mirror. Draco spotted the movement in the glass first, before being drawn up to the centre of the ceiling. A woman, hanging upside down over the table, revolving as if suspended by an invisible rope. Blood pooled from her ears, eyes and nose. But none of the blood touched the table below her.

No one looked at her directly. Everyone took their seats at the table.

Lucius clamped his hand on Draco's shoulder and drove him to a seat near the centre of the table.

Lord Voldemort was sat closest to the fire. As Draco took his seat, the dark Lord's face burned at the back of his mind. Hairless, snakelike features, slits for nostrils, gleaming red eyes. So pale.

" _We've got a problem Snape; the boy doesn't seem able." Doesn't seem able. Like killing a man, a good man, was like lifting something heavy or bracing against the wind. He'd already proven he was capable. The dark Lord would be happy with that at least… Except he wasn't. The dark Lord was only happy when he was humiliating his followers._

"No Lucius. Your son proved himself in the tower. Whether he completed the task he was set or not, I must commend him for cornering, disarming and detaining Dumbledore. No easy thing for a boy to do, especially with such a disappointing father. He will sit closer to me, on your right."

Draco lifted his head, feigned pride, and concentrated on not letting the shiver take over his spine completely. Lucius nodded, before stepping out of the way for his son to take a seat directly below the woman. She looked familiar, but Draco couldn't bring himself to look at her long enough to determine whether he knew her. " _You don't anymore,"_ he thought. " _Not if you want to survive."_

" _There isn't much time. We need to discuss your options," Dumbledore had said._

" _I haven't got any options. I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"_

" _I can help you Draco…"_

" _No, you can't. Nobody can."_

"Yaxley, Snape, you are very nearly late." Draco looked up to see the two men silhouetted in the doorway. The nodded towards Lord Voldemort before stepping into the room where they could be seen more clearly.

"Severus, here," Voldemort said, indicating the seat to his immediate right. "Yaxley, beside Dolohov."

Draco noted that meant Yaxley was one seat further away from Voldemort than Snape was. All eyes were on Snape, and it was to him that Voldemort spoke first.

"So?"

"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall."

People fidgeted. There weren't enough seats around the table for everyone, and Draco was hyper-aware of the men and women behind him stiffening and gazing at Snape and Voldemort. Draco fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt, too worried that his hands were shaking to play with his tie which was choking him.

"Saturday, at nightfall," Voldemort repeated, his mouth contorting into a smile. "Good, very good. And this information comes…?"

"From the source we discussed," Snape said, making eye contact with no one but Voldemort. Yaxley leaned forward, unable to keep the irritation off his face. He was too far down the table for his liking. Even Crabbe and Goyle were further up than he, and Draco recognised the expression as the same his father used to have before Voldemort had moved into their home. Pride, resentment, and a desperate need to be of use.

"My Lord, Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen."

Snape was smirking.

"My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible."

Yaxley's jaw over worked his response, and his left cheek twitched under the eye. He did not look at anyone except Lord Voldemort. "I assure you, My Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain."

"If he has been confounded, he would be," Snape continued. "I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry."

Amycus made a joke about them being right, but when Voldemort didn't laugh, neither did anyone else. Draco's gaze followed Lord Voldemort's back up to the woman spinning above the table.

 _Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face._ _  
_ _"Severus . . . please . . . "_ _  
_ _Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore._ _  
_ _"Avada Kedavra!"_ _  
_ _A jet of green light shot from the end of Snape's wand and hit Dumbledore squarely in the chest._

"Where are they going to hide the boy next?" Voldemort asked

"I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs."

Draco watched Voldemort apprehensively, much like the rest of the crowd around the table. They all feared they might be blamed for Harry Potter's continued existence. Draco'd had more opportunities than most to take Potter out. And yet the boy who lived kept living.

"I have been careless," Voldemort continued. "Thwarted by luck and chance. But I know better now. I understand those things I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be."

Draco's attention was drawn by a sudden terrible cry of misery and pain. It came from below his feat, in the cellar that had been converted into a dungeon. Draco grimaced as he remembered who was down there.

"Wormtail," said Voldemort, "have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?"

"Yes, m-my Lord," Wormtail gasped, clambering down from the table and scrambling from the room.

"As I was saying, I understand better now. I shall need to borrow a wand from one of your before I can kill Potter."

Draco felt bile push at the back of his throat. Did the man know how much he asked? Did he care?

"No volunteers?" Voldemort eyed the room, and when his gaze fell on Lucius, all others breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."

Could you make a greater insult? Draco couldn't even look at his father as Lucius began to stammer,

"My Lord"

"Your wand. I require it."

"But I…"

Draco noticed the quick glance between his parents. His mother rested a light hand on his father's wrist before Lucius nodded and handed over his wand.

"What is it?"

"Elm, my Lord. With a dragon heartstring core."

"Good," said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand and compared the lengths. Lucius moved his arm involuntarily towards the wands, before retracting his hand and resting it back in his lap. He looked away, but the gesture had been spotted by Voldemort who feigned surprise, but who's eyes glistened maliciously.

"Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?"

Those stood around the room sniggered, though no one was brave enough to laugh directly in Malfoy's face.

"I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late... What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?"

"Nothing, my Lord!"  
"Such liesssss…."

Draco shuddered, as he felt the heavy body of Nagini press against his legs. The snake slithered under the table, emerging to climb slowly up Voldemort's chair, seemingly endless. She rested against Voldemort's shoulders, and he stroked it absentmindedly as he continued to stare down Lucius.

Draco looked back up at the woman floating above him.

"Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?"

"Of course, my Lord," said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. "We did desire it — we do."

"My Lord…" It was Bellatrix who drew the attention of the room now. She wasn't as beautiful as her sister, didn't have her long blonde hair or beautiful eyes. And whilst Narcissa sat with a rigid impassiveness, Bellatrix was practically clawing at the table to be closer to Lord Voldemort. "It is an honour to have you here in our family's house. There can be no higher pleasure."

"No higher pleasure? That means a great deal, Bellatrix from you."

She blushed. Draco didn't know she could do that. She looked ridiculous, like she was suffering from a school girl crush.

"My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!"

"No higher pleasure . . . even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?"

She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused. "I don't know what you mean, my Lord." 

"I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud."

Draco's ears were flooded with the laughter of his father's peers. Jeering, taunting, howling laughter. People leaned forwards to exchange gleeful looks and Voldemort, clearly enjoying himself for once, encouraged the crowd.

"What sat you, Draco? Will you babysit the cubs?" his mouth curled into a smile showing sharp, needle like teeth.

"She is no niece of ours!" Bellatrix cried over the laughter. "This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries."

Draco looked to his father, aware that his fear was plain on his face. There was no point hiding it, Voldemort had killed people for less. But Lucius was looking into his lap, ashamed, and Narcissa was staring, deadpan, at the opposite wall.

"Enough," said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. "Enough." The laughter died at once.

"Family trees become a little diseased over time. You must cut away the parts that poison it. Keep it healthy, remove the rest."

"Yes, my Lord," whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. "At the first chance!"

"You shall have it," said Voldemort. "And in your family, so in the world . . . we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain…"

Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy's wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.

"Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" asked Voldemort.

For the first time since arriving, Snape eyed the body hanging from the ceiling. She cried out to him, but he did no more than acknowledge that he recognised her.

"And you, Draco?" asked Voldemort. Draco shook his head, in an attempt to convince himself he didn't. There was still something, but it wasn't safe to admit it. He wouldn't look at her again.

"But you would not have taken her classes," said Voldemort. "For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles... how they are not so different from us..."

One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Burbage. Yes. Draco did remember her. She'd never taken to him, but then many of the teachers at Hogwarts hated him because of who he was.

"Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance... She would have us all mate with Muggles... or, no doubt, werewolves..."

Nobody laughed this time: There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort's voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face him. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair.

"Avada Kedavra."

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell out of his onto the floor. He climbed up as Nagini slithered from her master's shoulders and towards her dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: April**

April Bristlecone sat, with her younger sister Lucrezia, in the waiting room outside one of the new offices in the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. The Ministry walls, ceilings and floors were tiled in a dark green and black mosaic, dark wooden pews lined the walls with wizards sat like they were waiting to be sentenced to death. Children clung to their parents, sunken faced and sallow looking.

April could feel her younger sister sat next to her fidgeting with nerves.

"You're going to be okay," April whispered. "I've already passed, they're not going to find anything wrong with your ancestry."

Lucrezia looked up at her sister, her brown eyes flashing a cold stubbornness.

"I'm not scared."

"I didn't say you were."

"I just don't want to be here anymore."

"I get it, we're not going to be here long."

April unfolded and refolded the news paper she had in her hands. The Daily Prophet. There was a huge photograph of Harry Potter taking up the front page. The Daily Prophet hadn't been able to find one of him looking rough or angry, much to their chagrin April was sure, so instead it was a photo of him having been selected for the Tri-Wizard tournament what felt like a century ago. Above the photograph was the headline 'Wanted for Questioning about the death of Albus Dumbledore."

An office door opened, and a ministry official stepped out with a clipboard.

"Bristlecone, Lucrezia?"

Lucrezia tucked a loose strand of dark brown hair behind her ear, flashing the diamond stud in her pearly lobe. April stood with her sister, taking her hand. No one met their eyes as they moved across the waiting room floor and into the well-lit office.

The ministry official was a woman, no older than forty years of age, with a plump belly and several chins. She wasn't as toad-like as Umbridge, who April remembered from her short stint as both Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and Headmaster, but she could definitely be a cousin or close relative to the pink wearing psychopath. She sat behind a desk, with a few papers and oddities scattered across. Close to her on the left was a golden globe which looked similar to the prophecy orbs April had seen in Trelawny's office at Hogwarts. Instead of the mist inside being a silvery blue, it was a golden mist, with flecks of red. And from personal experience she could imagine what the red was. She'd warned her sister, but it was still going to be painful to watch.

"My name is Mona Hartworth. I'll be your Inquisitor for today. Is this your first time attending the Ministry?"

Lucrezia nodded.

"Have any of your family members recently had reason to attend the Ministry?"

"Yes, I obtained my blood-status three days ago," April answered. "I'm her sister, April Bristlecone."

The inquisitor flicked through her papers, as her quill continued to make notes on the paper work in front her.

"Ah yes. The older sister. Excellent. Well, I have to give the usual spiel anyway so that it's all documented. As you know, the ministry is implementing a Muggle-Born Register, thus a survey is being undertaken to determine how Muggle-Borns are in possession of magical secrets. Recent research reveals that magic can can only passed from person to person, so with no proven wizardry ancestry further steps must be taken. As such, all students intending to attend Hogwarts must go through a strict inquisition and interview through the Muggle-Born Registration Commission to achieve 'Blood-Status'. Are you aware of the proceedings as they stand?"

"Yes," Lucrezia replied, tucking her hands in her lap.

"And do you accept the role of witness?" Mona asked April.

"I accept."

"On the understand that if you sister fails the examination you may also be pressed for further questioning?"

"I understand."

"Good. Well then, I can move on then. Could you please, Lucrezia, place your hand on the artefact to my left?" the woman asked.

April eyed the small golden ball, which seemed to hum with energy. Lucrezia looked quickly at her sister before placing her hand firmly on the top of the orb. There was a small fizzing sound, like smoked bacon hitting a pan, and Lucrezia pulled her hand away with a sharp scream of pain.

Lucrezia's palm was red raw, like it had been struck with something hot. Left on the orb was a red hand print, the skin flecks and blood floating into the gold mist. April pulled her wand from her pocket and touched it gently to her sister's hand.

"Frigus curavit," April commanded, and a cold flicker of ice wrapped itself around Lucrezia's hand, broke away and left the palm clear of any marks.

"Can I ask that you don't complete any more magic whilst this investigation continues?" Mona asked, side eyeing April. April felt a cold trickle up her spine. She wasn't seventeen yet. The trace would still be on her. What if someone from the ministry came to take her away? What if she'd just put her sister in more trouble by casting magic?

"Now Lucrezia," Mona continued, clearly unaware that April was still underage, "can you explain to me in your own words your magical relations and their occupations?"

"My mother is a Potion's mistress…"

"Name?" Mona corrected.

"Iliza Bristlecone, formally Inkheart," Lucrezia answered. "My father, Richard Bristlecone, works for the ministry of magic in their research department. He specialises in Mandrakes."

"Do you have any muggles in your extended family?"

"Not that I know of."

"Very well. Well, I can confirm your blood-status," she said, tapping on the golden orb which was still golden. "You'll both be expected to attend Hogwarts on the first as September. As you'll know, attendance is now compulsory. I'm sure it's all very exciting, knowing there'll be loads of new faces to grace the halls of Hogwarts. I myself attended, when Armando Dippet, God rest his soul, was still headmaster. I assume loads of things have changed since then."

"I suppose," April answered, tucking her wand back into her jacket pocket.

"Well, we certainly didn't have headmasters being murdered…" Mona pressed, pulling her wand from the top draw of her desk. "Neither of you would have had any reason to contact the ministry's undesirable number one, would you?"

The question was as plainly stated as the others, and it wasn't the first time April had been asked.

"No," she replied sharply. "I'd have told the ministry if I had. My family respected and admired Albus Dumbledore. Even with his faults. Murderers deserve to rot in Azkaban."

"I suppose, with you being in Slytherin and he in Gryffindor, you'd have had very little to do with each other whilst at school?"

"I made a point not to mix in his circles." This wasn't a lie. April had worked hard to stay out of his way. Whilst Potter always seemed to land on his feet, he also drew too much attention from the wrong sort. Even from his first year and his first battle with You-Know-Who. He'd made himself a target, and anyone who got too close to him. Just look at Cedric Diggory…

Mona seemed to like this response and tucked her wand back into her desk draw with a loud slam.

"Excellent. Well, we'll call it a day, then shall we? Thank you for coming in."

April took her sister's hand and led her out of the office. She could feel the clammy sweat between their palms, though she was unsure whether that was from her or her sister who seemed to have taken the majority of the interview in her stride. There was a burning sensation under April's skin though. For all her warning, she'd not realised the effect the second interview would have on her. To be stupid enough to do magic underage…

A tall man stopped in front of them as they made their way out of the waiting room towards the lifts. He had a long greying beard that was tucked neatly into his belt, and a bright yellow handkerchief poking out of his breast pocket.

"Miss April Bristlecone?"

April nodded. This was it. She knew it. It was over.

"Your father left a message for you, he won't be able to take you and your sister home so to take the Floo Network. I can show you down. April kept her mouth clamped shut so that he couldn't see how relieved she was and followed still clutching onto her sister's hand. As the doors of the lift opened, there was a shrill scream from behind them. April turned to see a small boy being torn from his mother's arms. He couldn't have been more than six, not old enough for Hogwarts yet. His mother was crying, reaching out for her little boy as several wizards dragged her away from her son. The ministry worker sent by their father shoved April and her sister hard into the lift and slammed the doors behind him. The metal framework of the lift meant that April could still watch the unfortunate scene in front of her. An older sibling, though April recognised him as a younger attendant from Hogwarts, stepped out of an office and pulled his brother into his arms, who's face was now wet with tears. The brother tried his best to brush them out of the little boy's face, trying harder still not to let the emotions betray themselves on his own expression.

"Muggle-borns, always so bloody dramatic…" complained the ministry worker who'd pushed them into the lift. It made a horrible clanking sound and shot backwards and down away from the Registration Commission.

"What will happen to the boys, if their mother is muggle born?" Lucrezia asked. April squeezed her hand and shook her head. Lucrezia tucked her lips into her mouth and looked at her feet.

"It's not as bad as you think. We're not locking people away just for being muggle-born. Rumour has it that there's going to be housing provided to help people assimilate into their muggle life again. They won't be able to work in any wizarding industry of course, not once their wands are returned."

April could feel the bile creeping up her throat. Her and her sister kept silent for the remainder of the journey, right up until the point where they reached the centre of the Floo Network. The hall was tiled dark green as the rest of the ministry, each wall lined with fireplaces made of dark marble that stood at least eight feet high and wide.

"Your sister should go first," the ministry worker commented, nodding towards Lucrezia. April finally released her sister, unsure now what to do with her hands whilst she waited. Lucrezia took a good handful of Floo Powder and stepped into the nearest fireplace.

"13 Langdon Crescent!" she shouted, throwing the Floo Powder onto the base of the fireplace. Large green flames enveloped her, surrounding her until she was no more than a black silhouette. Then, as quickly as the flames appeared, the flames disappeared and Lucrezia was gone.

"I would have a word with you quickly before you leave," the ministry worker said, holding onto the April's arm as she moved towards the fireplace. "There's going to be a lot of regime changes, developments and what not. Especially with the new headmaster. There are going to be opportunities for certain, high achieving and ambitious, students to make a difference. Is that something you'd be interested in?"

"Make a difference how?"

"Someone will be in touch Miss Bristlecone. This is set to become a very exciting year." The ministry worker tapped two fingers against his head as if giving a minor salute, before turning to walk away. April grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and stepped into a fireplace.

"13 Langdon Crescent!" she cried, before throwing down the Floo Powder and being enveloped in flames.

Langdon Crescent was a collection of Georgian homes, tilted in a steady curve around a small dog park. The ceilings were high, the walls were white, and the windows were large. As were the fireplaces. April stepped out of the fireplace in 13 Langdon Crescent's sitting room, dusting herself down and shaking off the soot from her denim jacket. Lucrezia was sat on the sofa, her feet dangling over the edge.

"Go and get changed," April demanded, crossing her arms. "You're going to get soot all over the sofa."

"What took you so long?" the little sister asked.

"I got caught up talking to the ministry man, that's all."

"What did he want?"

"I couldn't tell you. He was a bit too cryptic. Now go change, otherwise I'll tell mum you've been making a mess in her sitting room."

Lucrezia stuck her tongue out but jumped off the sofa and ran up the stairs. April took a detour via the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove to boil.

" _High achieving and ambitious? That sounds like every Slytherin in Hogwarts,"_ April pondered. " _Although, I can think of particular Slytherins more likely to have an in with the ministry. Crabbe. Goyle. Parkinson. Malfoy…"_

April was reminded of the first time she'd met Draco. He'd seemed to confident. So sure of himself. White-blonde hair. Cruel eyes. Thin face. Pale, like his father. He'd walked right up to her and offered his hand – once he'd heard the surname. Knew she was a pureblood like him. But she wasn't like him. Her 'blood-line' didn't really mean that much. Granger, a muggle-born, had been top of every class. Snape, her head of house, was only a half blood. She'd had her prejudices, sure. Even some of those stereotypes she'd found to be true. Hufflepuff's were lovely, but not very bright. They thought more about gossip and food than working. Ravenclaws weren't much better. Too busy researching their ideologies to revise for upcoming exams. But the Gryffindors. They were the worst. They thought 'being courageous' meant jumping in blindly. Threatening their friends. Fighting to 'defend' people who didn't want or need defending.

The kettle came to boil, and she poured into her French press cafetier. She still wasn't allowed to do magic in the house with her trace on, which meant she had to do the cooking, cleaning and everything else by hand. Their house elf, Flamy, was old and wily but she'd put April's clothes on too high a wash too many times to be trust.

 _"The first chance I get, I'm giving Flamy one of those shirts she's ruined. And get myself a house elf that actually knows what she's doing…"_ April thought, swirling the coffee around in the boiled water before pressing down the lid and filter.

She placed the cafetier onto a tray, fetched a cup, a jar of honey and a spoon, and made her way upstairs to her room where she didn't have to think about muggle-borns, house elves, opportunities or ambitious students for a while.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Draco**

The failed abduction of Harry Potter was never spoken of directly. There were a few quick glances, intakes of breath when his name was mentioned, but no one dared mention it in front of Voldemort. The dark Lord had punished Yaxley severely for bad intel and then to salt the wound made Snape Headmaster of Hogwarts. He'd returned the broken wand to Lucius Malfoy, destroyed furniture in a rage, set fires, and gone out several nights to torture and murder Mudbloods.

Draco had made himself useful. When Voldemort had learnt through the ministry that Sirius Black had left his family home to Harry, Dead Eaters were posted outside Grimmauld Place to watch for an opening or opportunity to get inside. Draco had taken several shifts, watching the long row of houses, unable to see anything except muggle residences filled with dirty muggles. The shifts were tiresome, mentally and physically exhausting. His body was on constant alert, every sound, movement, or glimmer of something had to be investigated. And he just knew that somewhere, on the other side of the invisible wall, Harry Potter was laughing at him.

"You're thinking about him again," came Pansy Parkinson's nasally whine. "You get a particular line across your forehead when you think about him. Bratty Potter."

"Don't let the dark lord hear you call him that," Draco said, continuing to stare out of his large window. A white peacock wandered the grounds, unaware that he was trapped with the rest of them. The last one had been eaten by Nagini. Draco wasn't sure why his mother had bothered to replace it.

Pansy didn't like being threatened with the dark lord. She pouted like a child and threw herself onto Draco's bed.

"What do you think our parents are talking about?"

"I don't care…"

"I reckon it's some plan to break into Harry's house. Burn the thing to the ground, I say."

"We can't even see it, how are we supposed to burn it to the ground." Draco didn't bother looking at Pansy. She was boring to him now. Her body too frail and her voice too nasally. They'd stopped sleeping together after Dumbledore died, and whatever lies she'd told herself about him getting over it hadn't happened. Instead, he'd gotten over her.

"Maybe we could torture someone in the order…"

"Do you know anyone in the order?" Draco asked, curtly, finally turning to her. She was sprawled like a cat amongst his black sheets. Twisting them in her fists. "Do you know anything at all?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

"I didn't think so."

Draco stood up from the seat in the large window and strode over to his armoire. He threw off the t-shirt and pulled on a clean white one. It was cold against his skin. So, he could _feel_ at least.

"I'm tired. You should go."

Pansy climbed off the bed with very little grace, flashing her black underwear as she did so. She skipped over to Draco and tried to kiss him on the mouth. He turned his cheek, so she caught the bone along his jaw. She kissed it anyway, before hurrying from his room so that he couldn't see the tears.

"Ergo," Draco called, and with a small pop a house elf appeared. He was younger in the face than Dobby had been, his ears were smaller, and he smelt of sweat. Draco couldn't help but curl his lip in disgust. "Ergo, is the dark Lord home?"

"Yes master," Ergo stated, clearly and calmly. "He's down in the dungeon."

Draco nodded. "Go."

"To him, master?"

"No, you idiot, just get out of my room." Draco swiped a foot out at Ergo, who accepted the kick of the legs and fell over with a small clatter. With a second pop he was gone, and so was the dirty t-shirt Malfoy had thrown on the floor. Draco checked his back pocket for his wand, before leaving the sanctuary of his bedroom.

There were always death eaters in his house now. His room was the only one away from all the noise. People clamoured in the dinning room, planned in the sitting room, and avoided the dungeon completely. Except Snape. Who followed Voldemort wherever he went. For some time now, Draco had shifted his allegiance from his father to Snape. Whilst his father was made a fool of time and again, Snape grew in Voldemort's esteem daily. If Draco really was going to survive, then he'd have to keep himself close to the man who seemed to be untouchable. The man who'd saved him from being a killer by becoming one himself.

Draco moved past the small hordes of people to the door to the dungeon. It was made of the same white painted-wood as all the others, had the same Malfoy emblem as the others, the same silver handle. But the moment this one opened, screams flooded the hallway and caused everyone to look in the direction of it. Draco caught his mother's eye, before stepping into the dungeon and closing the door behind him.

Lamps flicked on as if on their own, creating a small orange glow that led down the stairs. The stairs themselves were narrow and made of hard concrete. Draco was careful not to mis-step as he made his way down. The screams got louder as he reached the bottom and flashes of red and green illuminated the otherwise pitch-black dungeon. A small lamp had the initiative to follow Draco from the stairs to the end cell where Lord Voldemort was stood over a small, frail looking man with white curly hair and a scraggily jowl.

"Draco." Lord Voldemort didn't look over his shoulder, keeping his wand pointed at Ollivander's face, watching the old man's eyes follow the tip in terror. "What brings you to me, now? Can't you see I'm busy."

What would Snape say? Would he flatter? Would he try to charm? No. Of course not. Snape wouldn't have bothered entering unless it was to assist the dark lord in some way. Someway much more clever than anyone else at the Lord's table.

"This man lied to you. I've come to make sure this time he tells you the truth." This was, itself, a lie. But it was the best lie he could come up with on the spot. Voldemort stood and eyed Draco. His head tilted in a way only animals do. Creature like. Gruesome.

"You think I can't get the information I need from him? That I can't make him tell me exactly what I want?"

"I think you shouldn't have to. And if those upstairs weren't so afraid, they'd have shown the initiative to do it for you."

"Are you afraid, Draco? Or should I say, were you afraid, when you held Dumbledore at wand-point and did nothing? Did your little-boy hands shake under the weight of the task? Did they curl and grip tight enough to make your white knuckles whiter, I wonder? Did it make you feel safe, knowing that Severus would come and save you?"

Draco couldn't hold Voldemort's gaze any more, all bluster, all pride, all hope died. He looked at the floor, feeling his father's shame.

"Yes, yes. It's true. Many of my followers are weak. Tiresome though it might seem, I have use for weak people."

Draco was thankful he didn't elaborate.

"Do you remember Ollivander?" Voldemort asked, as casually as one might ask if you remembered school, or lessons or friends. Never acknowledging Ollivander's bleeding forehead or the cuts on his arms.

"He sold me my first wand."

"He's sold many wands over the years. And he remembers each one. And yet he won't tell me which wand I need, who's wand I need, to defeat Harry Potter." Voldemort looked back over Ollivander, who was breathing heavily and resting his head against the stone wall behind him.

"I told you, Malfoy's wand should have worked…"

"But it didn't!" Voldemort burst, purple sparks flying from his wand and slicing up and down Ollivander's legs. He screamed in agony and writhed as much as he could with his hands chained to the wall, his eyes rolling back into his head. Draco forced himself to watch, tried not to imagine himself in the old man's position. Tried to make himself useful.

"Each wand is different, so some wands must be stronger than others? Made of something that is the strongest? Holds the strongest magic?" Draco asked, once the purple sparks faded and the smoke had drifted away from Ollivander's skin.

"He wants a wand made of myth! One that's unbeaten in any duel. All Powerful. Such a wand doesn't exist!" Ollivander cried, his voice hoarse.

Something in his words rang through Draco's mind, as Voldemort continued to torture the old man. Unbeaten in any duel. All Powerful. Made of Myth.

"Ergo, fetch me my tales of Beedle and the Bard."

There was a small pop and Ergo arrived at Draco's side, his first edition of Beedle and the Bard in hand. He bent low as he handed it to Draco, which meant Draco had to bend lower. Ergo continued to bow once the book had been taken from his hands and then disappeared before Voldemort could turn the torture onto him.

"The boy thinks we'll find answers in childish fantasy?" Voldemort started laughing, spotting the small book in Draco's hands. He continued to laugh even though he had no audience to join him. Even though a new wave of terror flashed in Ollivander's eyes.

Draco was careful to step around the dark lord, crouching down in front of Ollivander. He held the book up in front his face, made sure the old man could see what it said.

"There's a story in here, of three brothers. One of them had a wand which couldn't be beaten in any duel."

"A children's story, like the dark lord said," Ollivander replied, trying to turn his body away. But Draco wouldn't let him.

"I don't believe you. I've never heard of a myth or story that wasn't in some way associated or a product of true life. I think you know of such a wand, and you're not telling our lord." Draco's voice held throughout, calm and controlling. For this, and the fact his hands weren't shaking, he was thankful.

"It's just a story…"

More purple sparks. Draco fell back onto his seat, watching fresh cuts and burns slice and sizzle across the old man's skin. He smelt like barbecue, and it made Draco want to heave.

"Enough! Enough! Please! Please! I beg you!" Ollivander cried, his eyes desperate, his hands trying to clutch against the wall. Voldemort stopped, his snake like eyes watching the old man.

"Tell me old man. Where would I find a wand like that?"

"Gregorovitch. He has the wand. The elder wand. Unbeaten in any duel. The most powerful wand ever created." Ollivander sunk against the wall and began to sob, his whole body shaking from the betrayal. Voldemort didn't smile. Wouldn't give Draco the satisfaction. His disapperated into a cloud of black smoke and disappeared through the doorway. Draco stood, brushed himself down and picked up his book. Before he could walk away, the deep raspy breathing of Ollivander croaked and coughed and spluttered, halting him in the cell doorway.

"Ergo," Draco whispered. A small pop and the house elf sprang up next to him, keeping his head low in a bow. "Tend to Ollivander's wounds. Not so much that my Lord will notice. Just enough that he isn't in too much pain. He should be rewarded, for helping."

Ollivander let out a renewed sob, and a cold feeling ran down Draco's spine. He moved up the stairs and through the door, where a large crowd waited for news. Narcissa was at the front, her hands folded in front of her. The moment Draco was clear of the door, she'd put her arm around his shoulder and directed him to the study at the end of the hall. Though people moved to follow her, she closed the door quickly, shutting them out.

"Muffliato!" she said, and a small white smoke filtered over the door and through the wood. There were grumbles from the other side of the door of people who could now only hear an irritating buzzing sound from the other side.

"I know what you're going to say…" Draco started, but when he turned around his mother slapped him hard across the face.

"Do you have any idea how stupid it is, to put yourself directly in Voldemort's path? How dangerous?"

"I had to. I have to make myself useful to him."

Narcissa threw her hands up and tried not to scream.

"It was bad enough, when you were a baby. And I could stay home with you, knowing you were safe. Lucius and Bellatrix and all the rest of my family, serving and scraping at his command. But you're my son!" she shouted, angry tears collecting in her eyes. "My only son. Do you have any idea what I would do, who I would destroy, if I lost you?"

Draco stepped forwards and allowed himself to be wrapped in his mother's arms. She wasn't one for shows of emotion, and he could feel her jaw working to bite back the tears.

"He tests people. Constantly. And when they fail… and they always fail…"

"I'm not my father," Draco stated, stepping away from his mother.

"No," and she said the word with a deep kindness, stroking her face over the red cheek she'd struck. "No, you're not. But you've been punished for your father's mistakes before. We won't be safe until Harry Potter is dead."

Draco didn't respond. He placed the book he'd been holding between himself and his mother on the bureau. Waited for her to ask.

"What happened? Why did you go down?" She took a step towards the bureau too, touch the book lightly and noted the small splatters of blood on the spine. There were a few freckles of blood on Draco's t-shirts too, but he noticed she didn't look at that too long.

"Something Ollivander said reminded me of an old story. Turns out it's based on truth. He's gone to go find some Gregorovitch. Apparently, he has the wand his lord needs."

"And you helped him figure this out?" There was a sudden light behind Narcissa's eyes. Hope. Draco nodded. "Good. Well, good."

She stepped away from her son and straightened the front of her robes.

"Are you all packed for Hogwarts?" Draco nodded again.

"Good. Tell no one of your involvement downstairs. The others… they won't like it. Snape might be the dark lord's favourite, but he's nobody else. He'll keep you safe at Hogwarts. But they can't know of your help. No one can. It'll make you a target."

"I won't tell anyone. I promise."

Narcissa smiled at her son, before stepping over to the office door and pulling it open. Several death eaters had the humility to at least look embarrassed at trying to listen in on the conversation. The rest watched with eager eyes as the two Malfoy's exited the study.

"Ergo," Draco called, and the house elf popped up behind him as he pushed through the throng of people trying to ask him questions. "Bring my dinner to my room. And don't allow anyone else in."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: April.**

Usually, Platform 9 3/4 was filled with parents, students, trunks and trolleys. You couldn't move without stepping on someone smaller, bumping into someone bigger. You were flooded with noises, the steam from under the Hogwarts express fading out through the gate at the end of the station platform. Cats would mill around your feet, watch for the lost and lead them to a seat. Owls would screech if their cages weren't handled properly. Parents would cry.

Not this year.

April led her younger sister, holding her hand tightly, through the narrow channels and queues of people walking along the platform. With the insistence on students no longer being allowed to be home schooled, she'd expected to see more people on the platform not fewer. April handed her trunk to the porter, and Lucrezia did the same. Lucrezia smiled at the old man, who tipped his hat back but didn't say anything. Didn't loiter. There were only five or six first years. Their parents clung on to them, knuckles whitening under the strain. Everyone looked frightened. No one made eye contact with anyone.

Even the brilliant red steam train seemed less vibrant. Marred by the witches and wizards who'd littered the streets outside Kings Cross Station asking for any kind of hand out. Any kind of mercy. Lucrezia had gone to give a small coin to a boy who April recognised as a few years below her. His face was scarred and grimy. April had pulled her sister away when she'd seen an Aurora watching them, moving swiftly inside.

April had never seen an Aurora outside of the ministry, their black and grey robes as rigid as their stances. They'd escorted some students onto the train, and others away. They'd checked files and lists as students arrived, noting who was there and who should have been but wasn't. Of course, one name followed in a ghost like whisper.

 _Had anyone seen him? Who would be hiding him? Was he coming back to Hogwarts?_

When an Aurora stopped her and asked if she knew anything about him, she'd replied, "Harry Potter is a menace," with a cold fury hiding the fear that rotted her insides. The Aurora seemed pleased with this response at least and no one else had made an attempt to speak to April or her sister since.

They found an empty carriage and made themselves comfortable in their shared silence. Lucrezia traced shapes on the steamed-up windows whilst April pulled a book from her bag. She'd hidden all her muggle books before she'd left, only packed the ones named in her letter. _Exploring the Potion Master's Fondness for Frogs_ , _Poetic Licence: Why Your Incantations Should Never Rhyme_ , and _Advanced Arts: Dark Edition_.

"Do you think he'll come back to school this year?" Lucrezia asked, before her sister could get too engrossed in her book.

"No. He's not that stupid."

"You said he was a menace," Lucrezia replied, turning in her seat to face April.

"Because he is."

"And over the summer you told Pansy you'd always known he was an idiot. A dangerous idiot."

"Because he is."

"But I don't…"

"Lulu, do me a favour? Don't pretend to be stupid. You're not."

Lucrezia pouted, crossed her arms.

"What will you do if I get put into Gryffindor?"

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know. You're a Slytherin. Like me. The hat will sort you into Slytherin and I'll protect you."

"I don't need you to protect me."

April scoffed.

"It's going to be like it was for me," April stated. "It's not going to be 'meeting new people, finally able to try magic, stretching your wings and learning to fly. This year… It's going to be different this year."

"How do you know?"

 _How can you not?_ April thought to herself. As the Hogwarts Express started pulling away, a dark cold feeling fell over the train. Dementors.

Wraith-like shrouds of misery and despair floated past the windows, icing them as they passed. Lucrezia jumped back, her face paling. She moved to sit next to April, holding tightly onto her older sister's arm. April could feel her nerves building with the ice, prickling down her spine and through her fingers. She reached into her pocket for a wand, prepared to call her Patronus.

But the hideous creature glided past the window, never stopping in it's search for Harry Potter. The carriage door to the main corridor flew open, startling April and her sister.

"Don't get too excited," Pansy Parkinson purred. "It's just me."

"Oh. Hey." April let go of her sister's hand gently and tucked her wand back into her pocket.

"They're gross, aren't they? Have you ever seen a Dementor's hands? All gnarled and grey. They're like floating corpses," Pansy continued, raising her arms in a ghoulish manner. April looked to her younger sister, who seemed to have taken the moment in her stride.

"I've seen worse," she said, nonchalantly, taking April's dropped book from the floor and having a read.

"What do you want, Pansy?" April asked, turning her hands to look over her nails. Hoping the other girl would get the hint.

"Wanted to show you these, actually."

Pansy handed April a small pamphlet, with the titled " _Murderous Muggles by Dolores Umbridge_ ".

"Didn't know the toad was a writer…" April muttered. But Pansy wasn't listening.

"They're being handed out all over London. A few of us from her Inquisitorial Squad have offered to hand them out on the train too. Who knows, maybe Snapey'll bring it back. I quite liked it. Better than being a smelly prefect anyway. A lot more power."

"Plus, you got to spend all that time with Malfoy," Lucrezia added, which seemed to sour Pansy.

"Well. Exactly. Anyway, can't wait to see what Snape does with Hogwarts. He always did play favourites to Slytherin. We'll finally be where we deserve."

April could see the faint traces of the dark mark under Pansy's shirt sleeve, and knew exactly where she deserved to be.

"Sounds good," April said, placing the pamphlet unread on the seat next to her. Pansy seemed satisfied, said her goodbyes and left the carriage. The moment she did, April muttered, "Colloportus." She gave a small flick of her wrist and locked the carriage door. When she saw that Lucrezia was watching her she shrugged and said, "saves anyone else barging in uninvited."

"Why are you friends with her?"

"I'm not."

"But…"

"Look, Lulu, put two and two together. I tell people what they want to hear because I don't want to end up in Azkaban. If you're smart, you'll do the same."

Lucrezia opened her mouth and then closed it again. She closed the book and put it next to April, before moving to her original seat and staring out of the window. April let the moment hang open for about half an hour. It was painful, but she wasn't going to apologise. Eventually, she said,

"People are going missing. Professors from Hogwarts. Friends. Whole families. I'll befriend whoever I have to because it's the only thing I can do to keep you and I safe."

Lucrezia nodded.

"I know. I just… I've never seen you this frightened before."

"It'll be okay once we get to school. Once the routines start and lessons can get on. It's just whilst it's new and people don't know what's going on. It's the changes that are scary. We'll be okay."

It was dark by the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade, and it was worse than Kings Cross. Fewer people, deathly silence. And a sharp cold considering it was barely September. April helped her sister off the train and pointed to the large man in the moleskins coat stood with a lamp in his hand.

"That's Hagrid. You have to go with him to Hogwarts. I'll see you there."

She gave her sister's hand one last squeeze before Lucrezia ran off to meet the other first years. April moved towards the other carriages, noting that Slytherin students now outnumbered the other houses. Green ties filled the carriages with the red, yellows and purples were interspersed like flowers amongst a field. April spotted the carriage Pansy was making her way to, Blaise and a couple of other seventh year boys crowding around her. With an eyeroll, April followed.

She pulled herself up next to Pansy who didn't seem to notice because Blaise was making red and green sparks fly out of his friend's nose. Like an idiot.

With the grace of a cat, a tall, thin, white haired boy stepped up onto the open carriage and placed himself opposite April and Pansy, shooing the other boys away. Blaise stopped playing and tucked his wand into his pocket.

"Malfoy," he mumbled, looking embarrassed.

Draco Malfoy looked bored, and that sent a spark of anger through April's veins. The carriage began moving towards Hogwarts, swaying the students with the gentle rhythm.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Pansy asked, clearly just as happy as April to see him. Draco turned to her, his eyes were ice-cold, and he was already sneering.

"Are you talking to me?" he asked. April watched Pansy in her peripheral. Her leonine features masked her irritation with a light smile. She moved to sit on Blaise's lap, making it clear she wasn't to be ignored.

"I'm surprised _the ministry_ could spare you. You being such an important little soldier."

A nerve twitched in Draco's jaw. Not a smile, April noted. A grimace. So, he and Pansy were on the outs. That made sense. Pansy was a pain and Draco… well. He'd not said two words to April since they started school. And she was just fine with that.

"I can't believe you've met _him_ ," Blaise started, eying April after Pansy elbowed him in the ribs and nodded towards April. "I mean… I erm… what did I mean?" he asked, turning to Pansy again.

"Your parents must be happy. With the new headmaster I mean. You always were Snapey's golden boy," Pansy said, talking over Blaise and refusing to look at him. "April and I were talking about it earlier."

Draco finally looked at April, his eyes calculating and distant. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs until they crossed at the ankles, completely at ease. April stared him out too, crossing her arms and legs. Daring him to say something to her for a change.

"We reckon Snapey's going to sew Hogwarts right up. I plan to live like a queen in my final year," she purred.

"And what's a queen without a king?" asked Blaise, his eyes doing that closed/lust look teenage boys do when they're thinking about sex.

"Historically speaking, more powerful," April interjected, as a response to the nauseas feeling building watching Pansy and Blaise.

"Huh?" Pansy looked at April confused, but Draco was smirking.

"I'm just saying, aim high babe," April said, turning back to her nails like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. She could feel Draco watch her for a few moments more, before he turned to watch Hogsmeade fade away into the distance.

Hogwarts was aglow when they arrived, all the torches and fires burning brightly. April rearranged her robes and made her way to the great hall. She took a seat close to the end, so Lucrezia would have somewhere to sit next to her. Draco planted himself next to her, and began unrolling his napkin. April did her best to ignore him.

"Did you hear Ernie Macmillan is head boy this year?" Draco asked her. "It's an absolute joke."

April nodded. She had heard. From Pansy, who'd become head girl.

"Still, means there's an opening for a Slytherin Prefect girl. If you're interested."

"Not especially," April replied, grateful that the Great Hall doors were opening and the five first years were being walked down the centre aisle by Professor McGonagall. Lucrezia was talking animatedly to a brunette girl and so didn't spot April until she was right at the end of the hall, stood in front of the sorting hat.

"It's my erm… delight to welcome you… all… to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"

"McGonagall's not as 'put together' as she usually is," Draco commented. He'd pulled a pencil out of his pocket and started sketching something.

"I'm trying to listen," April replied. She watched as the first girl went up to the stage, became a Gryffindor, sat down.

"These ceremonies are fucking tedious…" Draco continued.

"Will you shut up? I'm trying to listen, I already said," April replied, turning to him. He met her gaze coolly.

"Sure," he said, flinging the napkin at her and moving up the table so that she was sat by herself. She put the napkin next to her and listened out for her sister.

"Bristlecone, Lucrezia."

Slytherin. Slytherin. Please. Slytherin.

"Ravenclaw."

Well, it could have been worse, April thought. Quietly relieved it wasn't Gryffindor or worse, Hufflepuff. How they still had such a full looking table was beyond her. She watched her sister give her wave before moving over to her new table. Before the food could arrive, Snape stepped up to the pulpit and called for silence.

"Welcome students," he said, in his usual droll-almost-sleepy voice, "To what is expected to be a very… interesting year at Hogwarts. I'm obliged to remind you this is a place of learning and whilst you attend this prestigious school you will do everything in your power to improve beyond expected inadequacies."

Students looked amongst themselves. Was he really not going to say anything about Dumbledore? Was he going to avoid mentioning Harry Potter too? The fact Dementors had followed the train the whole way from London? The fact there were two creepy looking 'professors' sat to his right? A man and a woman, who could have been twins.

He seemed to remember, turned back to the pulpit. "May I also welcome our new members of staff, The Carrows. They'll be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies."

The woman stuck her tongue out as if the idea made her sick, but no one else commented.

"These professors will also be heading up discipline within Hogwarts. For too long students have felt the need to disregard and disrespect their teachers. This will end."

With that, food appeared at the table. Mountains of roast beef, potatoes, carrots, broccoli. Gravy boats filled to the brim. Turkey crowns, cheese burgers, pizza rolls. A delightful mix. April collected vegetables onto her plate and pulled out her book.

Once finished she pushed her plate away, knocking a napkin onto the floor. She picked it up and realised it was the one Draco had been scribbling on. On it was a perfect rendering of April as she had been on the carriage. Arms folded, looking annoyed. Not a magical portrait. This one didn't move but sat perfectly still – the shading around her chin and cheekbones highlighting under her eyes and along her neck. She pulled out her wand and tapped the napkin lightly. With a soft yellow glow, the sketch fizzled away and burned a new image onto the napkin.

April stood up and moved along the table. She dropped the napkin next to Draco and kept moving. Didn't look to see if he'd seen it. Knew that, like her, he'd be unable to resist looking at it. That his ego wouldn't allow it. That he'd open the napkin to see a sketch-rendering of her middle finger curling and uncurling from her fist.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Draco**

Snape was still a potions master. That was, for Draco at least, the strangest part of all the changes. He'd stayed the same. Still had the same sour expression, held his head at the same uncomfortable angle so that he peered down his nose at students. Still cold. Still distant. The potions classroom still smelt of herbs, flora and fauna. There was a dripping sound Draco had never been able to find that ticked away the hours. Draco's father had bought him a new pewter cauldron, because the one from last year had a small scuff at the bottom where their house elf hadn't cleaned it properly. It shone with the green hue of the potion's classroom. Draco hated it.

Students in their seventh year were supposed to be exploring the uses of Dittany, a plant used for it's healing powers. It was a sweet-smelling restorative which could encourage skin growth over deep wounds, healing them completely within days rather than years. The whites of the petals were veined with pink, and soft. Like orchids. Draco had crushed the juices out of the flowers completely, pressed under heavy books and with rice paper to absorb all they could. The rice paper was burning within the cauldron as he twisted and snapped the dried stems.

"I can't wait for Dark Arts lessons," Crabbe said, practically slobbering. "I've heard the Carrows are wicked. We get to practice curses on first years."

"I heard they seared one kids skin off," said Goyle. "Practically turned him into a walking talking boil."

Draco rolled his eyes. This was lies. He'd seen the boy and yes, he had some minor burns along his arm. But it was from duelling, instructed by Flitwick, not the Carrows. A mistake. The Carrows would get worse though. That was certain. They wouldn't need to take credit for other people's mistakes.

"What could possible be more interesting than you work, gentlemen?" came the snidey-sarcasm of Snape from behind them. Crabbe and Goyle looked at Draco, as if he should come up with an excuse. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes again.

"Professor, why are we learning healing potions? I thought seventh years did something more…"

"Exciting? Dangerous? Is that what you want Mister Malfoy?" Snape asked, continuing to glare at Crabbe and Goyle. Draco turned, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. Not wanting to look like a coward.

"Besides," Snape continued, "you've always been quite proficient at healing spells and potions."

From anyone else, this might have been a compliment. But the words were sharp from Snape. Condescending. Calling Draco out for not fighting. For not killing Dumbledore when he had the chance. Snape might have promised to keep Draco safe, but he wasn't going to be kind about it. And any ideas Draco had of getting Snape to be his mentor were slipping through his grasp.

"I want to learn the _Black Nightdance_ potion. The one sourced from Belladonna."

Crabbe and Goyle turned to Draco, their mouths slack. Imbeciles.

"The potion instructions are in the restricted section of the library Mister Malfoy."

"Restricted from whom? Seventh years? Then why bother having it professor?" Draco turned back to eye Snape, who's big nose rose higher in the air with indignation at Draco's tone.

"Restricted from all students, especially those in my house," Snape replied, daring Draco to argue.

"But you're headmaster now, sir," Draco replied, standing. "Everyone is in your house."

Even though Crabbe and Goyle looked confused, Snape understood completely. Lord Voldemort's eyes burned into the back of Draco's mind. His arm twinged as the dark mark pressed against his skin.

"You appear to have run out of Dittany petals. I suggest you got to the conservatories to get some more," Snape said, before turning away to harass a different student.

"What was that about?" Goyle asked, as Crabbe continued to stare.

"Nothing. Just reminding Snape who's really in charge."

The other boys seemed to think Draco meant himself and smirked, checking over their shoulders to make sure Snape didn't see them laughing.

"Come on, I'm sick of the smell in here," Draco stated, walking out of the classroom. The two others lumbered behind him, struggling to keep up. They were taller than Draco, but fatter. Heavier. Every breath was a strain when it was on an incline, and Draco was inclined to torture them with more inclines. Rather than take a straight route to the conservatories, he made his way up the three flights of stairs to the second floor, heading instead to the library.

It was full of younger students. Floating books and witch light candles which burned more orange than yellow and were charmed not to drop wax or flames onto the books. Irma Pince, the librarian, sat at her desk at the front of the library and eyed the three Slytherin boys with a steely gaze.

"What are you looking at?" Goyle asked, but Pince was far from threatened. Her lips pursed together in a tight zip and she stood, pulling her spectacles off her face so they hung from the chain attached around her neck.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing," Goyle said, when Draco shoved him in the ribs.

"I don't need her watching us you idiot," Draco growled.

He nodded towards the stacks and made his way towards a quieter, darker section of books.

"What are we here for anyway?" Crabbe asked, "I hate the library it's too…"

"Don't strain yourself," Draco replied. "Adjectives can be tricky."

Crabbe continued to gawp at Draco, before Goyle shoved him in the back with a rounded fist.

"I need you two to create a distraction. Can you handle that at least?" Draco asked, nodding back in the direction of Pince.

Goyle smirked, and shoved Crabbe in the back again.

"Quit it." Goyle hit him for a third time. "I said stop!" Crabbe lost his temper, shoving his friend hard in the chest. Goyle smacked Crabbe across the face and the boys fell into a tussle against the stacks. They wobbled, and books fell, as the boys continued to shove and punch each other. Draco slipped behind one of the stacks and into the darkness, towards the restricted section, before Pince reached the boys and attempted to stop them squabbling.

There were chains over the books and their leather looked darker. Meaner. Their spines felt cold to the touch and Draco felt the temperature around them drop too. He moved to the potions section, careful not to touch any of the 'screamers' or 'horrors'. They looked almost new, though they smelt of dust and decay. He brushed his fingers over the titles until he found the book he needed and tucked it into his robes, careful not to be seen by anyone.

He moved back to the entrance of the library, where Crabbe and Goyle were being held by the ear by Irma Pince. She was still berating them as Draco slipped past, careful to conceal the stolen book as he did so. He left his friends to fend for themselves, and moved quickly to the common room. He needed privacy. Quiet. He'd show Snape what he could do. He'd insist on the respect he deserved.

Draco's room at Hogwarts was not dissimilar to his room at home. Large four poster bed, black sheets, green walls, white t-shirts folded neatly on the chest at the end. A house elf had a coffee waiting for him by the side of his bed, as if they'd _just known_. It was bitter and hot. The way he liked it. He drank it in three quick gulps before shutting the bedroom door and locking it. He had to share his room with three others, but he didn't want to be disturbed. Not now. If the door was locked the other boys knew to stay away.

Draco pulled the book from his robes and placed it on his desk.

" _Deliquescent Death – Potions and Poisons, by Rhuebin Harpslade_ ". It was the book Draco had used to find the poison he'd attempted to use on Dumbledore. Though there were a few more inside he wanted to try. Snape had allowed him to use it before, but had returned it to the restricted section this year. Turned his back on Draco now that he had Hogwarts under his control.

"He'll see…" Draco thought. "I'm not a coward. Or a child. I'm a killer."

Draco pulled a box out from under his mattress, the size of a shoe box. When he opened it, the space inside was considerably bigger than it first appeared. He had hidden within it, several gold coins, a box of Weasley Wizard Wheezes he'd confiscated the year before, his mother's ring and a small white napkin. He placed the book inside and took the napkin out. The magic had faded, but the image of a stencilled middle finger stayed. It made him smile. He refolded the napkin and placed it on top of the stolen book before tucking the box back under the bed.

There was a ruckus coming in from outside, people shouting in the main common room. Draco unlocked the door and peered into the main sitting area. One of the prefects were shouting at Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed determined it wasn't their fault Pince took house points away for fighting.

"You're lucky you weren't given detention!" the prefect screamed.

"They're lucky the dark lord doesn't just burn this place to the ground!" Crabbe shouted back. Goyle smacked him over the back of the head, but the prefect had paled, eyes open wide in shock.

"He's… he's not…"

"Give it a rest," Draco said, stepping out into their view. "Pince is a pain and a half wit. I wouldn't be surprised if she lost her wand for her incompetence."

The prefect opened their mouth to argue but decided against it.

"Maybe you can get them to behave?" they said, before storming off.

Draco watched as Crabbe and Goyle fell into one of the sofas.

"Yeah, Malfoy, make us behave!" Crabbe chortled, as Goyle began chewing his fingernails like a Neanderthal. Draco rolled his eyes and returned to his room.


End file.
